Five Times That They Almost Kissed
by xox-hattii-xox
Summary: ...And The One Time That They Did. A 'Five Times' prompt. Merlin/Arthur.


Author's Note: Only recently was I talked into watching Merlin, having so far been unsure, but immediately after that first episode I was undeniably hooked. So, being the obsessive little geek that I am, I had to start typing. I am utterly and entirely a shipper of Arthur/Merlin, so this is my little outlet for it in the form of a 'Five Times' fiction that I've been considering doing for a while. I hope you enjoy it.

Five Times That They Almost Kissed And The One Time That They Did.

The First Time Was Because He Was Merlin

It wasn't often that Arthur Pendragon thought deeply about things. Not often because he rarely had any time, and even when he did he was never very good at it. He wasn't a deep man by his own admittance (And by most people's admittance, too) and so distractions came easily when you were looking for them. And, as a Knight of Camelot and Crown Prince, the thought of practicing footwork and coordination was a lot more appealing than the thought of prolonged introspection. Thinking deeply was reserved for people who didn't have things to do…philosophers…and people like Morgana, people who could quite happily sit and just _think_ about their lives without a constant need for action. Because he was a man of action, always had been, and thinking was far too _still_ an activity.

But he did realise that, when the time came, he would one day sit on the throne of Camelot and rule the people. And he also knew that to rule in the honourable and just way he intended to, that he needed to be able to consider what was best for his people. This would involve thinking quite a lot about '_Best Case Scenarios'_, '_Ends Justifying Means'_ and other such jargon that his father used on an almost daily basis. This, in turn, would lead to him having to refine his thinking ways.

But the fact still remained that he just didn't have the time to practice such things. When he wasn't working on his swordsmanship, he was refining his battle techniques atop his war-horse. When he wasn't doing that, he was on Guard Duty, or attending some state feast, or hunting down some new perpetrator of magic whose head his father wanted. Any other time he had was made up of either sleeping or eating. There simply weren't enough hours in the day for him to think.

In fact, it soon boiled down to the point where the only time he really had nothing to do was when he was being dressed. And he couldn't very well think there because of all the idiotic prattle that Merlin always seemed so keen to inflict upon him so early in the morning. Honestly, his manservant was so _chipper_ that it seemed to defy genuine human attitudes. Always burbling on in that own unique 'Merlin' way of his that had Arthur vacillating between the options of laughing and sliding a dagger between his shoulderblades. About how he heard in the kitchens that Knight Arthwaine's servant had been consorting with the new cook's apprentice. - You know the one, the one with bright red hair. - What does it matter if you're the prince, you should still have seen her. - _Alright_, he was only making conversation.

Then Merlin would continue to dress him, smooth his tunic and do up his buttons in a silence laced with the childlike sulking that Merlin seemed so adept at pulling off. And that would distract him further, because the look of petulance and lips slightly pouted would amuse him too much to resist poking fun at his manservant.

So, in reality, it was all Merlin's fault that he had no time to think.

Indeed, he came to this conclusion during one particularly _dull_ feast that his father had thrown and he had been forced to attend for a visiting dignitary who he was supposed to know the name of but had forgotten. (It would be a convoluted path to get the blame of that to fall on Merlin, but he was pretty sure he could manage it). But it wasn't until the next morning that he was able to voice this theory to his manservant. (And certainly be proven entirely correct.)

"You know," He began quite nonchalantly that morning as Merlin was turning his discarded jacket the right way out. "I'm quite certain that if I am to be a terrible king then it will be completely your fault,"

Merlin's actions stopped for a second as and he snapped his head around to face him. Arthur wasn't entirely sure what he saw in the dark-haired boy's expression; Surprise was unquestionably a winner, and confusion was a pretty clear runner-up, and possibly a smidgen of amusement, but there was something else there. Something hidden beneath those other things, something Arthur recalled seeing every now and then, something that was much sadder and infinitely more _real_ than he'd ever seen on another human being.

But then Merlin blinked, his usual foolish smile coming to his lips, and whatever Arthur thought he'd seen was gone in a flash. "My fault, Sire?" He asked, holding out one arm of the jacket for Arthur to slide his own arm into.

"Yes. Yours," Arthur confirmed, pulling the jacket on. Merlin's hands went to his shoulders, smoothening out the creases. Arthur noticed that his hands were shaking slightly. Odd. He shook his head, clearing the thought from his head and continuing. "Not because of your lack of sense, your incapability to polish my armour on time, or your magnetism to danger-"

"I think I'm going to well up," Merlin interjected, his smile tilting sideways into a smirk. Arthur just looked at him. "Sorry, Sire,"

He nodded in satisfaction, and restarted his theory. "Not because of any of _those_ traits. No, I will be a terrible king because of your complete inability to _shut up_,"

Merlin frowned, looking much like a kicked puppy, and ducked his head to button Arthur's jacket up. Arthur wasn't entirely sure what reaction that seeing the expression was _supposed_ to prompt in a Crown Prince, but he was pretty sure that it wasn't meant to be the slight feeling of guilt that coiled in his stomach. After all, he was the Crowned Prince and Merlin was his manservant…but just for a few seconds it felt just like Arthur and Merlin. The feeling didn't evaporate even as Merlin stepped away and collected his Sword Belt from the table, forcing a smile to his face.

"There are subtler ways of putting across your point, Sire," Merlin grinned hollowly.

"_No!_ Merlin, you've missed the point. _As usual_," The disparaging words came easily to him, even when he was still slightly confused himself. "Your incessant chatter is one of your more _redeeming_ traits. Occasionally irritating, but, overall, entertaining,"

"Glad I amuse you," Merlin smiled again, but there was a little more truth in the curve of his lips this time. Again, Arthur looked at him. "Sorry, Sire,"

"_My point_," He said deliberately. Then, Merlin leant around him to clasp his Sword Belt in place. For a second or so, his mind stopped, focusing all of a sudden instead on Merlin's arms brushing against him and his suddenly sharp awareness of Merlin's slender fingers scrabbling at the hem of his shirt to fasten his Sword Belt. For a blank moment, the world narrowed to just the sensation of Merlin being so close…His eyes widened as his own thoughts hit him with all the force of a thousand battle-horses stampeding over him. _What was wrong with him?_

Mentally, he tried to shake these odd, unfamiliar and decidedly dangerous thoughts away. But they kept sticking, rebounding and twisting around every corner of his mind, confusing and stunning every part of him. The rest of his words trailed away, leaving behind no trace of them every having even been in his mind to begin with.

Merlin pulled away, letting the belt drop heavy around his waist, and stood straight once again. Something intermixing confusion and horror dropped in Arthur's stomach as his eyes flicked from Merlin's eyes to his mouth and back again. He could feel his heart pounding faster without his consent, his breath catch in his throat like he'd swallowed too much air. He saw Merlin's eyes move downwards and dart back, and felt a stuttering gasp of warm breath that wasn't his own fan out across his lips-

"Your point, Sire?" Merlin said quietly. And just like that, clarity bled back into Arthur's brain. _What was he doing?_

Merlin blinked, and the intensity in his eyes dulled. They stared at each other for a few seconds, before Merlin turned away and collected Arthur's sword up from the table. The thinner boy slid it in place shakily, and afterwards took a step away with a quickness that put impulse to shame. "If you'll excuse me, Sire," He bowed his head, something that Arthur didn't ever recall seeing him do before.

Arthur nodded erratically, and Merlin disappeared through the door. Arthur's gaze remained fixed on the place where his manservant had been for a long second. He blinked once, twice, a third time, and breathed in a gulp of air that seemed unable to end. He felt shaky, fitful, much like when he returned from battle with such a buzz that it sometimes lasted for days.

What the _Hell_ was happening?

The Second Time Was Because They Were All The Other Had

Maybe it was just Merlin, but being captured was filled with hours of boredom. Maybe he was meant to be spending all of his time thinking about his untimely end, what his last words should be, or how he'd never apologized to Gaius for spilling the last of the poppy-seed and not replacing it, but really he was just bored! When one was captured – and not just captured. Locked away, and left in silence – there weren't a great deal of things to do. He'd counted the bars on the dungeon cell they'd been thrown in (17), and the rocks scattered about the floor (72), and the number of guards who'd been tattooed for a woman named _Erin _(6). He'd hummed the entire selection of Nursery Rhymes he could remember his mother singing to him. And he'd even recited the ingredients list for the three different types of wart ointment that Gaius had attempted to drill into him. (If they ever got back, he'd have to tell the old man)

Now, Merlin painted himself as quite a tolerant and patient guy. He had to be. He doubted that anyone else could be a manservant to the most condescending and tenacious man in the land, spend most of their days protecting said Master from any harm with their hidden Magic that was persecuted on pain of death by the unforgiving king, and have to keep the entire future of the land on their shoulders because it was their Destiny. (Christ, it sounded even worse when he threw it all together in one sentence). But right now, it was all getting to be too much to handle. Especially when, right next to him, Arthur was luckily missing out on the hideous tedium by a very convenient knock to the back of the head.

To begin with, Merlin had been worried for his companion. But after assuring that Arthur was merely knocked out, he grew annoyed. Annoyed, because he could _see_ the keys and could easily summon them to him but there was no way on earth that he could haul Arthur out. Then, after the annoyance passed, he simply found himself envying the Prince's position greatly.

"Just so you know, I blame you entirely for this," Merlin hissed at the unconscious Crown Prince, fighting down the temptation to throw every one of the seventy-two rocks at Arthur in an attempt to wake him. That made him feel better. Much better, actually. "If it weren't for your pointless hunting trips, we wouldn't have been out in the forests at all,"

Well, considering he had nothing else to do…

"And if you weren't the bloody Crown Prince, they'd have let us go! All they wanted was your sword! But _Noooo_, you had to explain _exactly_ who you were and _exactly_ why they couldn't take it from you. And now we're captured, and they've issued a ransom! But of course you don't know, because you're _unconscious_! And when your father pays the ransom, guess who _won't_ be being paid for! Exactly, me! Because who's going to pay to get back Merlin?" He glared at the wall, not wanting to look at the peaceful expression on Arthur's insentient face.

"Don't be such a _girl_, Merlin," A drowsy voice made his head snap around, and a disbelieving smile grow across his lips without his say-so. Blearily, Arthur blinked at him, not looking strong enough to lift his head past the inch he had managed. As if deciding this himself, Arthur laid his head back on the floor but continued to look groggily up at him. "It doesn't suit you,"

"How're you feeling?" He asked, ignoring Arthur's comments and moving over to the Prince's side.

"Like I was just knocked unconscious," Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin cocked his head to one side, waiting for a serious answer. After a few seconds, Arthur complied, looking anywhere but at Merlin. "My right ankle," He gestured vaguely. "I think I twisted it when we were running,"

Merlin felt the breath he'd been holding just vanish from his lungs. If Arthur couldn't move, they weren't going to be able to escape. Forcing that particular train of thought from his mind, he moved onto the immediate problem. "Can you sit up?" He asked, moving his hands to the knot of his red scarf and untying it quickly.

Arthur, frowning in confusion, nodded uncertainly and began to try and pull himself up. Seeing that he wouldn't be able to do it himself, Merlin held out a hand to assist him. Arthur eyed it for a second, as though accepting help would dent his royal pride, but in the end clasped Merlin's hand roughly and pulled himself up. Arthur's hands weren't soft, some detached part of Merlin's brain noted, not like one would expect a prince to have but instead hardened by his years of handling weaponry.

Arthur exhaled harshly as he collapsed back against the wall, beads of sweat dotting across his forehead and pulling strands of his blonde hair to stick to his skin. Merlin took a moment to check he was alright, before shuffling down and gently lifted Arthur's right leg. The Prince moaned, biting his lip in pain, and Merlin threw him an apologetic look before removing his boot. He sucked in a harsh breath as he took in the purple mess that was Arthur's ankle, his fingers probing the tender area with as much care as he could manage as he tried to figure out whether anything was broken.

Arthur made an odd strangled noise in the back of his throat, his eyes rolling back into his head, looking like he was biting back curse-words that would make Merlin's head spin. "Sorry," He muttered, to which Arthur waved him off, and pulled his scarf underneath the ankle in an attempt to bind it.

By the time he was done, it looked something like the bandages he had seen Gaius tie on battle wounds and Arthur's creased brow smoothened slightly as a result of the pressure. He hauled his brown jacket off, folding it over a few times and placing it beneath Arthur's ankle.

"Thanks," Arthur breathed, looking like he'd been swept up in a hurricane and spat back out again. "How long have we been here?" He asked, keeping his eyes closed but raising his eyebrows in question.

"About six hours," Merlin told him, moving back to sit in front of Arthur again. He looked far too flushed, too hot. Hesitating for a second, Merlin reached out and pressed his hand to Arthur's slick forehead. Arthur's eyes flicked open and questioned him drowsily, before fluttering closed again in an expression that Merlin could only describe as pleasure.

"Why are your hands so cold?"

"Six hours in a cell, Arthur," Merlin reminded him. "It's going to get cold," He moved his other hand to Arthur's cheek, his fingers grazing the edges of his jaw. He tucked his legs beneath himself, trying to get comfortable if they were going to be there a long time.

"So, you blame me _entirely_ for this?" Arthur asked after a few minutes of silence, a wicked yet tired grin on his face. His eyes still remained shut, making it easier for Merlin to pull an _Oh No_ face. He opened one eye, gave Merlin an amused look then closed it again. "I recall _someone_ tripping and giving away our hiding place,"

Merlin rolled his eyes, safe in the knowledge that Arthur couldn't see him.

"Merlin?"

"Yes, Arthur,"

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?"

Ah.

Arthur laughed at his awkward silence. "You're too predictable," He pulled his eyelids back, keeping them open this time to grin at Merlin. His eyes looked like they were sparkling in amusement – not in a glittery or girly way, but like dozens of fireballs were exploding in silence in the blue.

But Merlin didn't answer, because somehow Arthur had managed to create his own magnetic pull. Two things should have come to mind; That it was impossible, because people just didn't become inescapably magnetic of their own accord. And that it really, _really_, wasn't fair. But Merlin's brain seemed to have escaped him, because all he seemed able to do was slide his hand until both were on Arthur's glowing cheeks and lean in just that tiny amount as the grin on Arthur's lips died and the Prince's breath stopped.

"_My Lord!_" The call was like a spark being thrown into gunpowder. Merlin recoiled away as if Arthur's cheeks were poison on his hands and twisted his head to the bars of the cell-door where the voice had come from. "_My lord, are you in here?_"

In the semi-darkness, the face was hard to make out, but Merlin was quite sure he was right in guessing that it was one of Uther's men. Even if his pulse was hammering far too hard and his chest seemed to now be heaving in time with it. In fact, as he began to become aware of the world around him once again he could hear the sounds of swords on swords and shouting. They were saved!

"No need to whisper," Arthur's voice sounded irritated, although the slight heaviness of his breathing ruined the effect. "I'm fairly certain that they know you're here,"

"_Sorry, Sire_," The voice called again and the welcome sound of keys clanking sounded through the cell, followed soon by the ringing noise of the door being flung open with all of the dramatic effect that Merlin had discovered Uther's men loved.

"The Prince is injured," Merlin spoke up, finally trusting his voice once again. (He had yet to fully engage his brain and realise _what had just happened_!) "He'll need to be carried,"

As Uther's man dropped to one knee and hauled Arthur up, Merlin just sat and closed his eyes as he prayed that they'd stop shaking.

The Third Time Was Because Emotions Were Too Close To The Surface

The fact that he was irritated with Arthur didn't much distinguish today from any other day this week. It didn't distinguish this Thursday as being any different to Tuesday, Wednesday, and, more than likely, Friday and Saturday, too. In fact, the only thing that made today any different from Tuesday and Wednesday was that he was in his own quarters cleaning Arthur's armour rather than in Arthur's quarters cleaning Arthur's armour. And that had only happened because Arthur had stormed away in his typical _I don't care if we're arguing, or if you have a valid point. I am the prince and I don't have to listen_ way. So Merlin, too, had gathered up his work and decided to finish it where Arthur-Bloody-Pendragon couldn't bother him.

In truth, Merlin could barely remember what they'd been arguing about all week. It was one of those arguments where it started off as being over something tiny, insignificant, something that could easily be blown over and forgotten about, but then it grows. It grows and grows, fed by lines of sub-text and buried annoyances. Where one argument merges into the next, and the previous argument becomes replacement ammunition for when the next argument starts to become lagging, and until all there is is just one large continuing loop of arguments on top of arguments.

He'd come back to his and Gaius' chambers, laiden down with armour and metal, with such a temper hanging about him that Gaius had just looked at him cautiously as he'd passed through. He'd slammed the door to his bedroom shut, a somewhat childish act in retrospect but _God_ had it felt so good. (He'd apologise to Gaius for it in the morning). He'd muttered an incantation, placing a desk in front of the door so that Gaius couldn't come in and berate him, and allowed the rags to clean the armour themselves. He now just lay back on his bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, and trying to come up with more imaginative names to call the Crown Prince. Because, really, anything had to be better than his own pathetic collection so far.

The worst part of all of this was, he had nobody to vent to. If he went to Gaius and complained, the old man would just simply remind him of how lucky he was to have a position in the King's Household and that doing Arthur's dirty-work was his Job. If he spoke to Gwen about it, she would go off on one of her _Arthur's a bully, but he's a good man inside_ speeches. (While he loved Gwen, once was more than enough). And if he were to speak to himself, then he would just sound crazy. And needy…_very needy_.

So instead he ground his teeth and glared at every spider web on his ceiling. Lucky things. Didn't have to listen to Arthur all day!

He was so caught up in his mental cursing of the Crown Prince, that he only barely registered the crashing of his door in time. He muttered another invocation and the armour fell to the floor with a clanging noise. He lunged for a helmet and a cloth, doing his best to look innocent in a way that occasionally fooled Gaius, and had just collected them up when he realised that it _wasn't_ Gaius standing in the frame of his door. It was Arthur. And he looked _livid_.

"What do you think you're doing?" The prince began by shouting. He always _shouted_. Didn't he ever consider lowering it a few decibels so that he _didn't_ damage ear-drums?

"I'm cleaning," Merlin gestured with the helmet. "I can understand how that's a foreign concept to you, since you've never had to clean a damn thing in your life," From behind Arthur's forceful stance in the door-frame, Merlin could see Gaius shaking his head at them. He didn't see why – he'd done a very good job at keeping his voice at a normal, _human_ level. Unlike some.

"I can see that, Merlin, you _idiot_!" Arthur snapped again. He was still in his armour, Merlin noticed. He must have stormed off to practice with the Knights. Wait a minute; Idiot? "Why are you cleaning _my _armour in _your_ chambers?"

Merlin ignored him for a few seconds, scrubbing at a patch on the metal before he stood and went to pick up the desk that Arthur had knocked over as he'd raged in. "I didn't realise that the location of my cleaning was an issue, _Sire_," He felt quite proud of himself for managing to make the word 'Sire' sound like an insult.

As he made to move past Arthur to prop the desk back up, the blonde grabbed the top part of his arm and pushed him back. He stumbled slightly, cursed his own weakness, but straightened up. "Of course it's an issue! You are _my _manservant, that is _my _armour, and it should be cleaned in _my _chambers!" Mine, Mine, Mine. Oh, you could tell he was an only child! "Furthermore, what even gives you the right to move all of my stuff?"

"How about the fact that I spend all day _cleaning_ the goddamn things?" Okay, he was starting to shout too, now. But it wasn't his fault. It really wasn't. Arthur was just riling him up, as though he were tipping hot water all over him.

"I hope you haven't forgotten, Merlin, but I'm the _Prince_! You can't speak to me like that! Or I'll find a _new_ manservant!"

"And who could you find who would put up with you the way I do?" Merlin challenged, stepping closer to Arthur and raising his eyebrows at him.

Arthur stepped closer, too, blue eyes glinting in fury. "I'm the Prince! There are streets of people who would _line up_ for your job!"

"Well, they're _welcome _to it!" He pushed straight past him, fully intending to walk out, never mind that it was his own bedroom he was storming away from. If Arthur could do it, so could he!

But then he felt himself being shoved hard into the rough surface of the small alcove of the stairs, Arthur's body pressing him in in an attempt to contain him so that Arthur could finish yelling. The angry heat from his body hit Merlin heavily as his wrists were pinned high above his head. He couldn't see any of the blue in Arthur's eyes anymore, the pupils swallowing up the colour so his eyes were almost black. He could feel Arthur pressing everywhere against him, and wanted to push back, because _this_ wasn't what was supposed to happen. He was powerless, unable to move and starting to be hit with the sinking feeling that maybe he didn't really want to.

"No, they're _not_ welcome to it," Arthur hissed, the heat of his breath eclipsing Merlin entirely as he leant ever closer. "You will leave your job when _I_ allow you to. Understood?"

Merlin didn't move. Didn't or couldn't, he wasn't sure, but either way he was pretty sure he was frozen.

"_Understood?_" He breathed again, their chests heaving together in an accumulation of the entire weeks' worth of arguments, their senseless shouting match, and the fact that _God_ they were just so close. Merlin felt Arthur's nails dig in his wrists, and longed to be able to do something back. But all that seemed to be happening was that they'd somehow managed to get impossibly closer and that the blackness of Arthur's pupils no longer seemed to be entirely down to anger. And Merlin was pretty sure that his eyes were in much the same state; overly bright yet pitch black.

Merlin found his sight falling Arthur's eyes, breaking their intense staring contest, to Arthur's mouth. It looked wet, glistening from the amount of times that Arthur had licked his lips (A trait he had when he was angry). His lips moved, probably asking the same question again, but Merlin had stopped listening. He listened to Arthur enough as it was. His eyes fell a little more to the sun-kissed skin of Arthur's neck, and the sudden urge to brush his fingers across the angular collarbones and hollow dip of his throat became entirely too strong.

He moved his eyes back to Arthur's, knowing he had to compose an answer of some sort. But he no longer knew what it was, or what the question had even been. However, from the look in Arthur's eyes, it didn't really seem like he cared all that much either. Their noses brushed together…

"Arthur!" Merlin wasn't sure whether to praise or curse Morgana's timing as his eyes snapped open to their full once again and Arthur shot away from him like he'd been burnt. His hands fell back to his sides and he turned to face the door. "Your presence is required in the main hall. I checked your room but it was empty, so I guessed you'd be here," She called from the door. Merlin tried to read her expression – _what had she seen?_ – but his head was spinning too wildly for him to concentrate. He heard Arthur march away and felt the air rush back into his chest painfully.

As the door closed behind the Crown Prince, a startling dose of lucidity re-entered Merlin's head. _Gaius!_ How could he have forgotten about Gaius? His eyes darted about the room as his breathing attempted to level out and failed. He caught sight of the court-physician standing in the far corner of the room, standing with his back resolutely to the place where Merlin was standing. Oh no.

He slid down the wall to the floor, shaking his head and desperately trying to keep the room from spinning.

The Fourth Time Was Because They Were So Close 

It was a Tuesday afternoon, the weather was beautiful and, for once, there seemed to be no threat to Camelot. Arthur tried not to take this as a sign that something else would be coming along next week, but that was difficult for some reason – possibly because his father was spending today locked alone in his chambers with maps of Camelot's defences and was trying to plan out the new and improved Guard Rota – but for the moment the sun was shining, everything was still, and he had nothing to do but nothing.

And he was bored of it.

Arthur wasn't a sitting-around-and-doing-nothing kind of guy. He was a Knight, a man of action and battle, the Crown Prince. Sitting around and doing nothing was about as appealing to him as the idea of wandering into a cave of wolves wearing nothing but the Palace Kitchens' beef steaks. (Actually, that was _more_ appealing – at least he would have something to do). So that was how he came to be standing on an open plain of field behind the castle opposite a panting Merlin and with sweat pulling both their thin under-shirts to their skin.

It was too hot for armour, and much too hot to be swinging around swords. So, Arthur had abandoned the idea of practicing his swordsmanship and had instead set his heart on perfecting his hand-to-hand unarmed combat. An option that Merlin hadn't looked entirely pleased about, he'd noticed.

They'd been going for almost an hour without breaks. Their jackets had been shed roughly about fifteen minutes into the exercise, their tunics, boots and Merlin's red scarf following soon after. Because, Arthur reasoned, they were far enough away from anyone's line of sight for the fact that they were wearing just their under-shirts and trousers to even register. And, no, he definitely _wasn't_ ever-so-slightly convinced of this because one of the consequences of this was that Merlin's dark tresses were tousled beyond belief, his pale cheeks were flushed, and his chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath. _No, definitely not._

_Focus_, he berated himself, rotating his arms backwards in both an attempt for something to do with his hands and to distract himself. These thoughts, these dangerous, _dangerous_ thoughts, had become more and more frequent as of late, and he didn't know what to make of them in the slightest. Or, rather, he wasn't _allowing_ himself to even acknowledge them for even more than a few loaded seconds.

"Ready, Merlin?" He asked when it appeared that his manservant had finally managed to regain breath.

"Ready?" Merlin asked, confused, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun as he squinted in Arthur's direction.

Arthur lunged forward, Merlin dodging the fist headed for his ribs by the barest inch. Arthur saw something flare back into life in Merlin's eyes, that little spark that Merlin could sometimes embody when he was competitive (_Rarely, but still_), and the smaller of the two boys leapt forward to meet his attack. They punched, dodged, kicked and blocked their way across the field, Arthur finding it both surprising and slightly impressive that Merlin was managing to keep up (Maybe he was rubbing off on him).

They kept going for so long, the only sound between them the sound of flesh hitting flesh and muffled grunts of either victory or pain, so long that they were both tiring, getting more wild and fierce in their movements, each of them trying to gain the upper hand. Their breath became ragged through gritted teeth.

Whenever he caught Merlin's eye, the pure intensity in the depths of the blue was almost enough to make him stumble slightly in his attack. Ferocity, anger, elation, lust, misery, need, and things he couldn't even name raced in an erratic pattern across Merlin's features as they battled their way across the grass. Merlin landed a punch in his ribs, so hard that Arthur felt something crunch, and he retaliated with a brutal blow to his shoulder with so much force behind it that he felt his knuckle crack. Merlin let out an animalistic grunt, the sound decidedly interesting, and stumbled back a step. Arthur grinned, sensing victory within his reach and moved forward for the kill.

If he hadn't been so keyed into Merlin, he probably would have missed what happened next. In truth, he couldn't _really_ say what happened next, but due to the small smirk he saw playing on the corners of Merlin's lips he guessed that it was somehow Merlin's fault.

Because what happened next had to be a stroke of luck on Merlin's part. It had to be. Arthur had to have tripped or something, because there was no way that Arthur Pendragon could be tackled to the floor by _Merlin_ of all people! He was momentarily stunned, looking up at the air of predatory triumph that flashed across Merlin's face as he straddled his hips. There was something about Merlin's eyes as he grinned down at him. That look of mischief in the dark-haired boy's eyes that told Arthur that Merlin knew something he didn't. It was a look he often saw on his manservant's face, but familiarity didn't make it any less annoying.

They were breathing hard in unison, and Arthur's eyes fell on the heavy rise and fall of Merlin's chest as the thinner boy caught his breath. His gaze fell further, dropping to the outline of his stomach which he could see through the sodden material of his under-shirt. It was moving in and out with his breath, loosening and tightening. He moved his eyes back up, staring at the overly-bright eyes of his manservant which much seemed closer than before.

No, this wasn't right! He was the _Prince_! The Crown Prince of Camelot didn't get defeated by his clumsy manservant! Crown Prince of Camelot didn't get distracted by the slightest shifting of said clumsy manservant which created a kind of friction he hadn't even known existed and made him bite his lip! But quick maneuverability was a trait picked up from birth by the Crown Prince, so he clasped his hands on Merlin's waist and twisted easily. Merlin made a startled noise, which made him Arthur grin in triumph as their positions switched.

He pressed his hands to Merlin's shoulders, pinning him in place as he hung over him. "Concede?" He asked, leaning in and smirking his victory. That was better. Merlin glared up at him, but the effect of the expression was ruined by the slightly glazed look in his eyes. "Do you…_concede_?" They both breathed a little harder. The movements made their bodies push together and pry apart.

'_Merlin'_ he meant to breathe, meant to say something, but somewhere along the way his voice decided it was time to abandon him as he looked down at the writhing boy beneath him. That wasn't fair.

And then Merlin's hands moved, one gripping at the front of his saturated shirt and the other on his hip. What was happening? What was Merlin doing? And why didn't he care? Why was he, instead of leaving, letting his eyelids lower and press all the closer to his manservant?

Because he wanted to. Christ, he _bloody_ wanted to.

He could see the realisation in Merlin's eyes and assumed that something was much the same way about himself. He started to move in when he remembered who he was. Where he was. Who he was with.

He was sitting astride Merlin, _Merlin_, with majority on their clothes on the other side of the field, their remaining clothes drenched with sweat, and their faces so close that all Arthur would have to do would tilt his head and push forwards another half an inch…

He couldn't do that. Couldn't be here. With Merlin. No matter how much he wanted to.

Arthur made a strangled noise in the back of his throat - A groan, because _God _Merlin was so close, and a growl of frustration. Panic overtook him, and he all but catapulted to his feet, jumping back several feet in one motion. He tipped his head back, moving his foggy gaze to the sky and ran his hands through his hair in infuriation. His breathing still heavy, he paced aimlessly, looking anywhere but at his manservant still sprawled out on the floor.

When he finally trusted himself to look back, Merlin was still lying there propped up on his elbows with his blotches of red blossoming on his pale cheeks.

Arthur ran.

The Fifth Time Was Because Merlin Was Scared

In all honesty, Merlin blamed Gwen for this. Honestly, completely and _entirely_ her fault. It was a nice change, he felt. Usually it was him being blamed for things (And, _no_, he wasn't going to admit that it usually _was_ his fault). So he took a few moments to enjoy that before he allowed himself to go back to his current predicament.

He hadn't seen Arthur's eyes open in what felt like days (Although in reality it was only just closing in on eight hours) not since Arthur had flashed him a grin before lunging towards the mumbling sorcerer-priest who'd put him in this state. His face was ashen, and the only colour anywhere on his person was his blue eyes which flickered in and out of lucidity and sleep as the hours passed. It twisted something painful in Merlin's chest to see the Crown Prince of Camelot lying wrapped in sweat-soaked sheets, gasping for stolen drags of air.

Gaius had done all he could for Arthur; spending the lagging night hours administering potions, supplying Merlin with cold-presses to mop across Arthur's forehead, and consoling the worried king by telling him that all they could do now was wait until morning. Uther himself had been almost impossible to calm down, and it had only been because of Gaius' insistence that Arthur wouldn't be left alone for even a second that the King had retired for the evening.

Indeed, Gaius had stuck to his promise. But the Court Physician had long ago left to grab himself some snatches of sleep. That had left Merlin to sit by Arthur's bedside and listen to his pained moans as the dark sky slid into the pale shades of painfully early morning.

At some point, Merlin had clasped Arthur's hand and, realising how cold he was, had begun to knead the freezing flesh in an attempt to restore the blood flow. But now as exhaustion started to loosen the rigidity of his muscles and pull his eyelids over his eyes, his movements slowed and became so difficult that he ended up compromising by simply clasping both of the Prince's wide palms in between his own pale ones and bowing his sleepy head over them.

He drifted in and out of a light doze, not quite sure whether he had been awoke the entire time or was just dreaming about the whole ordeal, and awoke not feeling any more alert than before.

What awoke him was the muffled sound of voices. Or, rather, one voice. He blinked his way into full conscious at the sound of his own name being mumbled, and immediately focused on the Prince's face in thinly veiled hope. But he was met only in disappointment as Arthur only mumbled his name and shifted once again in his troubled sleep.

Arthur looked painfully wrong in his sleep. Merlin had seen the Prince sleep before, but whatever this was that the Prince was doing _wasn't_ sleeping. His brow was creased and slathered with sweat. His eyelids kept flickering, and his arm was jittering slightly. Not just his arm, his _right_ arm, his sword arm. In a startling crash of clarity, Merlin could see that the Prince wasn't as out it as he appeared. If he was dreaming, he was dreaming only of the priest who had placed him in this condition. And, more than likely, of the battle he'd lost.

"Why don't you wake up?" Merlin murmured, his voice riddled with disuse. Because this wasn't right! It was wrong, painfully wrong, and Arthur _should_ be awake to…to…to just call him an idiot, be ridiculously pig-headed and arrogant, and just be _awake_.

He trailed his eyes over Arthur's face, boredom prompting him to idly count the splashes of faint freckles on the future-king's face. (24). Colour had been bleeding into Arthur's face all night but, while he looked a hell of a lot better than he had when Merlin had first began his watch, he was still far too pale to be even vaguely construed as 'Healthy'.

That was the annoying thing about all of this; Merlin's mind vacillated between the misery and worry that Arthur would never wake up, and the simple boredom that just sitting in a room in mind-numbing silence. While the worry made him feel almost physically sick, the boredom made him feel guilty beyond words.

Occasionally, he spoke aloud – although whether it was to himself or Arthur, even he wasn't sure. Words like _Stupid Prat_, which he supposed applied to them both, and _Wake up_, which could be a demand to either of them. It was only the sporadic whisper of _Please_ that he'd never admit to saying, that was a plea to Arthur and Arthur alone.

And it was probably only Arthur he'd plead to like that.

He blinked, biting his lip in guilt as the unfortunately-not-unfamiliar implications behind the realisation. Unfortunately-not-unfamiliar, because he _had_ thought that before, or at least thought things that could easily translate into that.

But, these…thoughts…are…_dangerous_! His mind screamed the words at him, as his mind had screamed it every time his thoughts wandered anywhere near these paths, but for once he ignored them. _This'll hurt_! His head warned him, but he carried on following the train of thought as his hands turned Arthur's over and his fingers traced the lines of the Prince's palms.

Because he knew it was undeniable. Whatever it was that coursed in his veins when he dressed Arthur for the day, or undressed him for sleep. Whatever it was that made his chest hammer when Arthur grinned that smug smirk at him. Or that mixed sense of thrilling destiny and comforting feeling of home that filled him up whenever Arthur was simply _there_. Undeniable. Undisputable. Uncontestable.

But, undeniable as it was, it was also…illogical to even think these things. Shaking his head, he tried to dispel the thoughts (He was an idiot to even begin to think about this) but try as he might he couldn't. It was hard not to think about something that was constantly skulking in the corners of your mind. No, no, he couldn't, _couldn't,_ do this. This was Arthur Pendragon, and he was just the manservant.

Maybe something up there was smiling at him, if only for a few seconds in his tragically unfortunate life, because he was broken from his thoughts by the only thing that possibly could have done it. An exhale of breath, followed by a spluttering cough, and a groan.

_Arthur_.

He stopped the thankful whisper of the Prince's name seconds before it slid past his lips, instead remaining silence as Arthur blinked groggily a few times and shifted in his sheets uncomfortably. The blonde groaned again, his breath rattling, and finally opened his eyes. Merlin breathed a sigh of relief, seeing the Prince's eyes open and in full lucidity at last, and the sound drew Arthur's attention to him.

"…Merlin?"

"Yes, Sire?" He asked, probably a little too quickly. But if his haste was noticeable, Arthur didn't mention it.

"'_Sire'_? I must be in bad way," Arthur chuckled weakly, lolling his head back into his sweat-stained pillow as the effort became too much.

"The worst," Merlin agreed, his smile tainted with the worry Arthur's condition had caused him.

"Sugarcoating it, as always, Merlin," Arthur grinned at the ceiling, moving his eyes to Merlin rather than facing him fully.

"I try,"

Arthur nodded, a flicker of pain crossing his face at the movement. "Any chance you can move all of that 'trying' effort in the direction of my pillows. I'm losing feeling in my neck,"

Rolling his eyes but unable to squash the smile, Merlin stood from the uncomfortable wooden stool that had been his home for the past eight hours and reached over Arthur's tired face to straighten out the crumpled cushion under the Prince's head.

And this was exactly how it was Gwen's fault. Unequivocally. Because if Merlin recalled correctly (And he was entirely certain he did), Gwen had kissed him when he'd awoken from his 'death bed' after his near fateful encounter with Nimueh. If Gwen hadn't done such a thing, then Merlin was fairly certain that the idea wouldn't have even been in his head…

"How do you feel?" He asked lightly, trying to distract himself.

"What kind of question is that?" Arthur asked, giving him the _Merlin, you idiot_ look that Merlin was strongly familiar with.

"A hopeful one," Merlin answered honestly, using one hand to pull Arthur's head from the pillow and the other to pull the cushion straighter. He determinedly tried not to focus on the feeling of Arthur's blonde hair sliding between his fingers. He quickly settled the Prince back in position, but as he made to move back to his seat, Arthur's hand shot out with surprising quickness for a man in his condition and clasped around his wrist, holding him in place and pulling him down a few inches.

"Arthur?" He asked, but the Prince cut him off.

"You stayed," Arthur spoke neutrally, but Merlin saw _something_ in the Prince's face.

"Of course," He said sincerely, confused by the way Arthur was acting. That something in Arthur's eyes grew, and Merlin felt himself pulled down further. Their foreheads touched lightly, neither seeming bothered by the intimately close contact.

"All night,"

Merlin merely nodded, staring into the blue of his Master's eyes.

Arthur swallowed. "Thankyou," He didn't blink, even though they were so close.

To say Merlin was shocked would be gross understatement, but it was only the barest widening of his eyes that gave the Crown Prince any indication of his manservant's surprise. As the years had progressed, Merlin had grown used to the fact that Arthur, for all his traits, was a very proud man. And proud men did not voice thanks to anyone. Oh, Merlin knew that Arthur appreciated him and read the thanks in every extended look or firm grasp on the shoulder, but hearing the Royal Prat say them aloud wasn't anything he'd ever been expecting from him.

He was unable to stop the smile on his lips at the thought. "You'd do the same," He ventured, tentatively pushing forwards as their noses brushed together.

He felt, rather than saw, Arthur grin. "Suppose so,"

Merlin hummed an acknowledgement. He blinked, but kept his eyes closed as their breath continued to breeze quiet and steady between them. As he did so, something inside him screamed at him _You Idiot!_ And he wasn't particularly inclined to disagree. Because here he was, mere minutes after running through the exact reason why this was pointless and painful, doing the exact opposite of what he should be. He wanted to keep his eyes closed, not have to open them and let this second of time disappear when reality bled back in.

But he couldn't.

He opened his eyes, and when he refocused his gaze it was painful to see that Arthur's stare was locked on his own mouth. And yet it felt so entirely natural for Arthur's hand to curve a path around his ear and slide behind the arc of his neck…

The sudden banging of the door behind him made them both jolt back into awareness, Arthur lurching upwards in shock so fast that their foreheads banged together with a crack that would have made them both wince had they not been in pain already. Merlin whipped around to see Gaius standing in the doorway, a bottle of tonic in his hands and a look of _I know what's going on_ in his eyes.

"Gaius, I-"

"Merlin," Gaius cut him off. "Please fetch me another bottle of the serum on my desk. I believe it will help the Prince's condition more now that he is awake," The look on his expression left no room for argument.

Merlin nodded quickly and left the room.

_All. Gwen's. Fault._

And The One Time They Did…

Merlin had always imagined – whenever he allowed himself to think about it, that it – that a kiss between him and Arthur would be right in the heat of battle. Up against the rough surface of the castle wall before one or other pulls one of the stupidly noble hero-acts they seem so good at. Or one huddled over the other and desperately trying to keep them alive. All raw angst, pent-up frustrations, sharp teeth and nails raking bare skin.

So, consequently, he'd recognised that the things people envisioned never really happened and had instead changed his mind. If a kiss ever were to happen it would be normal. (Well, not normal. Nothing would ever really be normal between them. Ever. But he digresses…) That maybe he'd be doing something normal, he'd be setting out one of Arthur's evening meals, and the Prince would smirk at him and make some idiotic remark, and Merlin would just be unable to stop himself from pulling Arthur into him because _God_ these past few weeks had just been pure torture on his poor mind and body. And _really_, how many times could two people get so close and not do anything?

He didn't even know when he'd started having these thoughts. He'd never had such thoughts and ideas towards anyone of his own gender before…and certainly no thoughts he'd ever had _ever_ had been in the depth or intensity of the thoughts he thought about Arthur. (Arthur. Oh, God, Arthur. _Prince_ Arthur. _Crown Prince Of Camelot_ Arthur…Just don't think about it!)

But it was only when he rode out with Arthur and his Knights (Because they'd now both realised that Merlin wasn't staying behind no matter what Arthur ordered him to do) to help track down yet another magical beast that Uther had decided to ignore Gaius' advice on and had sent out Arthur into the forests to kill, and when it'd killed three of their men, and when Arthur had ran ahead through the trees to do something courageously idiotic, and Merlin had to run after the prat…it was only then when Merlin found out. And he wasn't sure whether he was shocked out of his mind or pleasantly proven right.

He was already breathless, hands falling to his knees to prop himself up as soon as he caught up to the panting Prince in the middle of an empty valley, but the look of pure excitement and fervour on Arthur's face stole away whatever was left of his oxygen. He couldn't stop the wide grin that spread across his face at the intoxicating expression, despite the dangerous situation they were so close to, and lifted himself back up to normal height.

"There you go," Arthur grinned, his voice still managing to be teasing when he was gasping for breath. "Much better than when you're worrying about me,"

"You? I'm more worried for myself right now," Merlin panted, gesturing vaguely in a way that was meant to show exactly _who_ was wearing the protective armour between them.

Arthur barked a laugh, resting back against the large rocks that made up the valley as he grinned impossibly wider. From somewhere above them, Merlin could hear the terrifying cry of the beast they were hunting down. Arthur's hand moved to his sword belt as they tilted their heads to the sky, but they both relaxed once again as nothing came of it. Arthur looked back to him and smirked again. "I'm sure there are some good places for you to hide around here," He mocked lightly.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily,"

"I never can, can I?" Arthur clasped a hand on his shoulder, grinning at him. It never failed to catch Merlin off guard how Arthur could make his stomach twist and disappear with the smallest of gestures. And how any sort of contact between them sent a jolt rippling across the surface of his skin

He caught himself just before he started to lean forward, saved by a rush of self-awareness and common sense. Something in Arthur's eyes flickered, and he thought that Arthur might have cottoned on to him, but he dropped his sights to the forest floor rather than face up to it. But Arthur still hadn't moved his hand, which tightened around his flesh as another screech split the sky in half. Instinctively, they both ducked into the wall of the valley at the sound, Arthur's hand moving at last but only so far as Merlin's head to push him further down

"This is going to be dangerous, isn't it?" Merlin shouted over the sound of rocks tumbling.

"Let's hope so!"

For a few seconds, they grinned at each other; their hearts thumping, their breathing still ragged, and Arthur's hand still clasped tightly within Merlin's hair. Surprise clenched around his heart, and he was pretty sure he saw it reflected back from Arthur; He'd gotten so used to something interrupting at this point, poorly timed entrances or one of them leaping away, that getting this close without them seemed so uncharacteristic of them.

But for once, nothing was coming, no-one was about to round the corner and interrupt, (Except the beast they were chasing, but he wasn't leaving anytime soon) and neither of them could run away. Evidently both realised this in the same moment. Well, maybe Arthur recognised it first. (Maybe it was always going to be Arthur who would recognise it first, who would choose what happened, what mattered and what didn't.) Because it was Merlin who was pushed forcefully back against the rough stone of the valley, Merlin who's head was simultaneously pulled forward towards Arthur, and Merlin who made a strangled moan as suddenly Arthur's lips were firm against his own with a force that was nearly bruising.

His eyes widened without his consent, taking in the sight of Arthur's closed eyelids for a second, before he let them slide shut again and focused for the moment on just the feelings, trying to memorize the exact sensation of Arthur's lips and Arthur's body against his, because _God_ this was much better than anything he ever could have thought up. Arthur's mouth was warm against his own, his fingers contracting and releasing in his hair. Without consciously thinking his actions through, because conscious-thought was pretty much out the window at this point, Merlin brought his hands up to frame Arthur's face, mimicking the soft pressing movements of the Prince's lips.

Teeth scraped gently at his lower lip. The sensitive flesh tingled, and Merlin couldn't suppress a choked sigh. His breath hitched, and he let his mouth open against Arthur's in a silent demand for more. The low noise it drew from Arthur was as satisfying as it was tempting. Arthur's tongue pushed past his lips and teeth, everything he'd never allowed himself to fully imagine and leaving him breathless and making him wonder detachedly in the corner of his mind how in hell they had managed to get this far with all of this lying unacknowledged between them.

Arthur's hand untangled itself from Merlin's hair, brushing by his ear, settling firmly on his jaw as he pulled away. Merlin stumbled forward, catching himself on Arthur's arm, and looked up at the flushed face of the Crown Prince. He opened his mouth, then closed it as he realised that words had deserted him. He tried once more, but all that came out was a garbled "…What?"

"C'mon, Merlin," Arthur grinned at him with all of the excitement that the prospect of battle could bring him. And there was the smallest amount of something else lingering along the tilted line of his smile. "We have a beast to kill. Can't stand around here all day,"

_Can't we?_ Merlin's brain asked, but he nodded his agreement.

The next kiss came and went before he could even register it. The slightest brushing of their mouths, a silent _be careful_, before Arthur was gone and running for the direction the beast had headed to. Merlin followed.

He'd always follow.


End file.
